


Rolff Stone-Fist and Luaffyn

by Heiwako



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Drama, F/M, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heiwako/pseuds/Heiwako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes one finds love in the most unlikely of places, especially when you're a drunk racist like Rolff Stone-Fist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eira

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for the GamingLoveInterest 2013 Tragic Love Contest - [[link]](http://gamingloveinterests.deviantart.com/gallery/42090041)  
> Summary: Rolff Stone-Fist has never been easy to get along with, but he's gotten worst in the last six months after the loss of his wife.  
> Additionally inspired by SKM for the prompt of making an unlikable character likable. May include a more smutty version, but the Tragic Love contest had a 2k-3k limit.  
> Copyright Bethesda  
> Comments appreciated.

When Rolff Stone-Fist woke, the first thing he did was check for a hand resting on his chest as he did every time. 

And as with every waking moment, he sighed when he realized that the person who owned the hand he was looking for had left him six months ago. “Eira,” he thought as he climbed out of his warm bed for the cold room. “I miss you so much, my dear Eira.” 

The shadows were long in his small house as he puttered around looking for a bottle of ale or mead. He had been living in Candlehearth Inn until his older brother, Galmar, complained that it made Ulfric Stormcloak look bad that his housecarl’s only living family lived in an inn. Galmar had gotten him this place soon after. It wasn’t much, not like the nice house he and Eira had shared, but he supposed it was better than nothing. 

Finally, he found a half-empty bottle of Honningbrew mead and sat down to drink it while he waited for nightfall. Rolff rarely bothered being up during the day any more. He preferred wandering around the Gray Quarter at night, letting gray-skins know what he thought of them. Most nights Angrenor joined him. They would meet at Rolff’s house, drink a bit, and then go into the ghetto part of Windhelm looking for elves stupid enough to be out roaming at night. 

He never told Angrenor—he was too ashamed—but part of him hoped they would find the one who had taken his Eira away from him. Then it wouldn’t be simple threats like he did with those other gray skins or the rare beating for the particularly mouthy ones. No, then he would gut the bastard and watch him beg as he bled on the stones of the Gray Quarter. The elf would pay for taking his wife from him; Rolff would make sure of it. 

By the time the sun had set, Rolff decided that Angrenor wasn’t coming tonight. Maybe the beggar was sleeping off his hangover at the Candlehearth or maybe he was trying to earn some coins with his story about how he took a sword to the chest. It didn’t matter. Rolff was in a mood to be alone tonight as he stalked the alleys of the Gray Quarter. At least until he found a dirty gray skin. 

 

Luaffyn hummed quietly to herself as she walked towards the Candlehearth Inn. She had decided she wanted some fresh fish and had visited her friend Suvaris down at the docks in hopes of a discount. The harpy had gouged her terribly, but Luaffyn liked to think it wasn’t as much as she hiked the prices for the lizard-kin. 

She quickened her step as the last rays of day faded over the mountain. The Butcher was still at large and she had no intentions of being his next victim. Four women had been killed so far and his most recent victim had been Susanna the Wicked. 

Most people had just shaken their heads at the tavern wench’s death. She had had a reputation for being promiscuous and too friendly to Dunmer, which made her somewhat missed by her male customers and honestly mourned by the citizens of the Gray Quarter. Susanna had been a true ally to the Dark Elves and they would honor her memory. 

The bard paused when she heard shouting and the sick thud of fists ahead of her in the dark end of an alley way. Had the Butcher struck again? She wanted to flee, but her feet were stuck to the ground, frozen harder than grass to ice during the winter. 

She could make out two silhouettes, shadows dancing on the walls of the alley as they fought. One swung wildly, missing more often than not, while the other twirled back out of reach before darting in to deliver quick jabs. Finally, the awkward shadow fell with a muffled curse. 

Luaffyn squeaked when she saw the winner was walking towards her. Oh gods, why had she waited so late in the day to go down to the docks? She was such a fool! Her heart was crammed in her throat, making screaming for the guards impossible. Not that any of those Stormcloaks bothered to patrol the Gray Quarter. 

It was now too late. The shadow was here and it was…Aval Atheron? The man who sold meat in the marketplace? 

“Luaffyn, is that you?” he asked. She could make out the beginning of a bruise on his cheek. “What are you doing out here at night?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” she stammered. 

“I’m going to pick Suvaris up,” he explained. “She asked me to escort her because of the Butcher.” 

“Oh,” Luaffyn murmured. That was a good idea. She wished Suvaris had thought to mention it to her. “Who were you fighting?” 

“That idiot Rolff,” Aval scoffed. “He’s not so tough when he doesn’t have his toady to back him up. Odds are a lot fairer when you’re not outnumbered two to one or not a woman being cowed by those drunken assholes.” 

“You knocked him out and just left him there?” Luaffyn asked, aghast. “What if something were to happen to him while he’s unconscious?” 

“Then nothing of value was lost,” Aval shrugged. “Look, I have to go. If you want, you can walk with me while I get Suvaris?” 

“I think I’ll be okay,” Luaffyn faked disinterest as she shrugged. “I’m almost back to the Candlehearth. The extra walk isn’t worth it.” 

“It’s your life,” Aval said before he waved farewell and continued to the docks. 

Instead of going to the Candlehearth, Luaffyn scurried to the fallen figure of Rolff Stone-Fist. The Nord was completely knocked out. She tried to wake him, but he only flopped bonelessly in her grasp. She tried to lift him and found she could drag him slowly on the ground, but only if she used both hands. The bard sighed as she mournfully looked at her fresh fish. “Good bye tasty meal,” she said, “I never knew you.” She placed it on the ground, grabbed up Rolff’s shoulders, and started the slow trek back to the Candlehearth. 

 

When Rolff Stone-Fist woke, the first thing he did was check for a hand resting on his chest as he did every time. 

And as always, she wasn’t there. Except this time, a gentle hand pushed back his hair and pressed a cool cloth on his forehead. “Eira,” he whispered, unable to believe she was back somehow. Despite how impossible it was, she was back! 

“No, it’s Luaffyn.” 

“Who?” Rolff’s brow wrinkled in thought. The voice seemed vaguely familiar but he didn’t know the name. It didn’t sound Nordic. 

“I’m the bard at the inn,” she explained. It didn’t surprise her Rolff didn’t recognize her, but she knew him. He was notorious for hassling Dunmers. More than one elf had stumbled into the New Gnosis Corner sporting a black eye or busted lip thanks to him. 

“Where am I? Are you planning on torturing me?” Rolff barked as he looked around the room to discover they were in one of the Candlehearth rentals. 

“You were knocked out and left for the skeevers,” Luaffyn said stiffly. Why had she thought he would be the slightest bit grateful? 

“Why would you help me?” he asked, suspiciously. 

“Because it was the right thing to do,” she answered simply. “Why do you feel a need to stalk the Gray Quarter every night hurting the Dark Elves?” 

“Because you steal jobs from hardworking Nords!” he exclaimed. Rolff paused, his hand on his head where it was aching. 

“Here, let me give you something for that,” Luaffyn offered, reaching for her alchemy pouch. 

“I don’t want anything from any elf!” 

“I’m not your enemy,” she snapped. 

“You’re not my friend either and that equals to the same thing,” Rolff retorted. 

“What if I were to help you?” Luaffyn offered, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. “I know about Eira.” 

“How would you know about her?” Rolff growled. 

“Because you come to the inn almost every night to drink before you stalk off to the Gray Quarter and you’re not exactly quiet,” Luaffyn explained. “Besides as a bard I’m trained to listen and learn.” 

“I don’t need help from any gray skin,” he insisted. 

“Maybe, but you do need help from a woman,” Luaffyn said, “if you want bait for the Butcher. He’s never showed up around any men, only lone females. And could you really ask any Nord to stand helplessly while you wait for him to show?” 

 

“This is the place?” Luaffyn asked. They were at the edge of the Gray Quarter near where Rolff and Aval had fought earlier. 

He nodded; unable to speak as his eyes lingered over the spot they had found Eira’s body. She had been brutally mutilated, flesh cut from various parts of her body and her face almost destroyed beyond recognition. Almost. Worst of all, her skirt had been hiked over her hips and her smalls never discovered. 

“You know just because she was found here doesn’t mean it was a Dunmer who did it,” Luaffyn suggested. 

“Of course it was one of you gray skins!” Rolff snapped.  Friga Shatter-Shield’s father hired Argonians and she had been the first victim. Clearly it was because of the Dunmer and Argonian feud. Eira had been in the Gray Quarter, probably coming back from the docks. Susanna was known for fraternizing with them. It all made sense. Some Dunmer had killed and raped his wife, and Rolff Stone-Fist meant to have revenge! 

The bard merely shrugged and pointed to a corner. “I guess you can hide over there. I’ll be pacing over here. Just…just be sure to stop him if he does attack me, okay? I’m sort of attached to being alive.” 

Rolff settled into his hiding place as Luaffyn started her patrol. His eyes were drawn again and again to the spot where Eira had died. There was no mark now, no blood or memorial to remember this spot, but it was burned in mind. He saw her accusing stare. “Why hadn’t you been here to protect me?” those dead eyes screamed. “Why were you not there?” 

In the dark, it was easy to ignore Luaffyn’s darker skin and pointed ears especially when she was turned away. Her hair was the same shade of red Eira’s had been and after a while it was all too easy for Rolff to imagine it was his wife out there in danger instead of some filthy elf. Being only able to see the curve of her skirt and the fall of her hair, Luaffyn was just a woman. 

The bard almost screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around expecting to see the Butcher had finally come to kill her.  Instead it was Rolff Stone-Fist who looked exhausted instead of angry for a change. “It’s not going to work,” he grunted as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “so let’s go home. I’ll escort you back.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked, secretly relieved. She wasn’t completely sure, but she thought they had only been out there for an hour or two. 

“Yeah,” Rolff agreed, his eyes downcast as he scruff his shoes on the street. “Now let’s go.” 

They walked back in silence to the Candlehearth Inn. Luaffyn thought to try to make conversation a few times, but Rolff’s pensive look stilled her tongue. When they were in safe sight of the inn, he turned to her. “I’ll leave you here.” 

“Do you want to try again tomorrow?” 

“No, no sense risking no woman,” Rolff grunted. “You may be an elf, but you’re still a woman. I’ll find the bastard on my own.” 

Luaffyn smiled as she leaned close and touched Rolff’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Rolff jerked away as if her touch had burned him. It had felt too much like she had been about to kiss him. “Don’t need any thanks from any gray skin either!” he snapped as he turned around and ran home. 

He spent the rest of the night drinking and thinking of red hair that fell like flame down a woman’s shoulders. Sometimes he worried that he wasn’t thinking of Eira at all. Finally, during the pre-dawn hours of the morning, he crawled into bed drunk and lonely. Most of all he dreaded the moment when he woke and checked for the hand resting on his chest that would never again be there.


	2. Caught in the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Rolff Stone-Fist x Luaffyn  
> Setting: Skyrim
> 
> A/N: This is an entry for a contest on Deviant Art for the [](http://gamingloveinterests.deviantart.com/) group. The theme was "Caught in the Rain" and used the song of the same name by the group Revis. I must have listened to that song over a hundred times and now it's stuck in my head. XD
> 
> I really liked writing this, although it's a bit hard to let myself feel too sympathetic for Rolff. He is one of the most disliked characters of the game for a reason! But I did love getting to explore him, Angrenor, and Luaffyn since they have almost no characterization in the game.
> 
> Angrenor's marriage is based on my first character who was a Khajiit who did marry him for the reasons stated in the story. 

It hardly ever rained in Windhelm.

The capital of Eastmarch was too far north for much precipitation. Most of the year the land was covered with snow making growing most vegetables impossible. There were a few plants that thrived in the cold, but not enough for the Hold to survive without imports. Thankfully, there was the lucrative fishing industry to export in exchange for greens from the south.

"There are two seasons in Windhelm, little brother," Galmar used to tell Rolff when they were children, "winter and Summer's Height,"

Rolff Stone-Fist sighed as he remembered that sweet memory from when he and Galmar too young to know better, but old enough to get into plenty of trouble. It must have been at least fifty years ago, long before the Civil War and the Great War.

He missed his big brother. Galmar had always watched out for him, even when he was disgusted with Rolff. There had been years when they had been far apart. Galmar always had his duties to take him away. First, his role as an officer for the Imperial Legion in Cyrodiil when he was young had taken him to far lands to fight for the Emperor to keep the peace. Then later when Ulfric Stormcloak denounced the Empire, he had sworn his axe as the Bear of Eastmarch's housecarl. The two would travel most of Skyrim finding new soldiers and inspiring them to the cause to save Skyrim's native culture.

Ulfric had been practically an adopted brother for Galmar and by extent Rolff too. The younger charismatic man had been adored and fiercely protected by both Stone-Fists. No one would be allowed to lay a finger nor speak a harsh word against the jarl as long as they were around to defend him.

Except now Ulfric and Galmar were both dead, killed in battle in Windhelm when the Legion made its way into the heart of the rebellion's headquarters. Fighting had been insane on the streets. Galmar had warned Rolff to stay home where it was safe. "I can't protect Ulfric if I'm worrying about you and your bad leg," he had growled before leaving for the Palace of the Kings. "Stay safe and we'll get drunk or something afterwards to celebrate." They were the last words his brother said to him.

Rolff drained his tankard, grimacing at the weak ale. The seat to his right was painfully empty. Even his nights were alone nowadays.

Angrenor had gotten married after the civil war ended and decided that he wanted to be "respectable." What a joke! How could the Nord believe that after he had married a Khajiit of all things?

The last time Rolff had seen his old friend, he had been knocking on the door of the taller man's residence, Hjerim. The cat had bought it after Brunwulf Free-Winter became jarl. The bastard had relaxed many of the rules that Jarl Ulfric had enforced and one of them was allowing the cat-kin into the city walls.

"Angrenor, come out now!" Rolff had called, slamming the metal door. It had been well after midnight when he had drunkenly stumbled there. He had been mulling all night on how he was going to confront his friend about abandoning him and rubbing uglies with a stupid furry cat.

The taller Nord had slipped quietly out of his house, closing the door behind him. For a brief moment, Rolff could see the stupid furball poking her head over her husband's shoulder as she glared at him. He scowled at the sight of her. The cats had no business in the Windhelm's walls. Stupid thieves and drug dealers the whole lot of them.

"Rolff," the ex-solider said as a way of greeting, "you can't be coming here in the middle of the night screaming your head off. It upsets Meena and it bothers the neighbors."

"Screw your neighbors," Rolff spat. "And screw your wife." He snarled. "No, scratch that. Don't screw your wife. It's sick that you're sticking it in a cat. You might as well be sleeping with a horse. They're at least useful creatures."

He had not been prepared for his old friend to suddenly grab him by the shirt and haul him a few inches off the ground. "Listen, man, I've been patient," Angrenor growled. "I am not going to forget the stuff we used to do together, but that's in the past. I don't do that stuff anymore. The war is over. The Empire won. Men, mer, and beastkin are all friends now. You wanna keep disliking them, that's your business." He shook Rolff once for emphasis. "But if you disrespect my wife again, I will personally rearrange your face."

Rolff managed to keep his feet when Angrenor let go of him, but only barely. He tried to regain some of his dignity by brushing his tunic off. "You used to be someone, Angrenor."

"Yeah, I was a homeless, drunken bully," Angrenor said softly. "Meena helped me remember who I used to be and how much that mattered. I was someone who helped protect the people of my home and I was someone people admired. It might have only been for my strength or my stamina, but that's a hell of a lot better than being pitied for being a drunk."

"No one pities me," Rolff snapped.

"Everyone pities you," Angrenor replied. "I think the saddest part is no one pities you more than you do.

"Shut up!" Rolff yelled. "That's a lie!"

"It's the truth," Angrenor sighed. "Look, man, we were friends for a long time. You were my only friend. If you could learn to accept Meena, there's a bed here for you. You don't have to be alone anymore."

"I wouldn't be alone if you hadn't abandoned me!"

The door to Hjerim flew open and the small female feline darted out of it. Her fur was standing on end. "This one has had enough of the drunken Nord's screeching," she hissed. "If Rolff can't respect Meena's home, she will call the guards on him. They have looked away for long enough, but no more. Now there are Imperial soldiers, not Stormcloaks! If they are summoned, they will throw you into jail until you are sober for the first time ever." Each word was punctuated with a jab to the chest with her claw. "Understand?"

"Fine," Rolff growled as he backed away. "I don't need no cat-loving freak as a friend anyway. I got plenty of friends. I don't need you!"

That had been a week ago? Two? It was hard for Rolff to keep track days any more. He spent his nights in the Candlehearth Hall's loft drinking and listening to Luaffyn singing. It was long past midnight and they were the only ones left awake in the inn. The rest of the patrons had stumbled home or to their rented beds hours ago.

 _It was you_  
who could get me high  
With whatever you say  
Telling me something real  
What we do  
It doesn't matter now

He hated to admit it, but the elf did have a decent singing voice. It was soothing really. The Nord placed his head on the table with his arms as cushions. He would close his eyes for just a moment and then he would go home. Just a few minutes.

* * *

When Rolff opened his eyes next, he was being tucked into his bed. A cool hand ran over his forehead, brushing his bangs back. "Eira?" he murmured, reaching for the long fingered hand.

"No," a female voice replied, "it's Luaffyn." The damn elf!

"What are you doing here?" Rolff snarled as he sat up. The motion made his head explode with pain, but he tried to ignore it as he glare at the Dunmer bard. Not an easy feat with how dark it was in his house.

"Elda wanted you out of Candlehearth after you passed out," she explained calmly. If Rolff's outburst bothered her, she didn't show any sign of it, but then she never did. "She said that if you weren't going to pay for a room, then you didn't get to sleep there."

"She could have just woken me," Rolff grumbled.

"She tried. As well as Nils. Finally, I offered to take you home." Luaffyn waved her has nonchalantly as if it was nothing, but Rolff knew that she lived in the inn and bringing him home was completely out of her way.

"I don't need an elf helping me," he growled. "And I don't need a woman walking alone in the dark afterwards."

"Why worry? The Butcher was captured months ago. Windhelm is safe again."

Captured? More like killed, which was even better in the opinion of most people's minds. A freelance mercenary had offered to help look for the serial killer since the war was still going on and all of the guards were spread too thin to properly investigate the murders. Thanks to Ulfric's court wizard, the mercenary had been able to track down the Butcher before he could kill again.

The Butcher died when the mercenary confronted him and a fight occurred between them. It had been revealed that the monster had been Calixto Corrium, an owner of a museum that highlighted various items he had collected as a young adventurer. He had been trying to harvest body parts to resurrect his dead sister. Clearly insane…and not a Dunmer.

No, the monster that had killed, raped, and mutilated his poor Eira had been an Imperial. It had been about that time when Angrenor stopped helping Rolff beat up Dunmer in the Grey Quarter. Rolff had never told him directly that he was searching for his wife's killer, but the other man must have had a similar thought and was horrified to find they had been wrong in their search for justice.

It didn't matter to Rolff. He would be lying if he said it didn't hurt, but as far as he was concerned the Dunmer were still to blame. They were a leech on Windhelm with their constant requests for more money and repairs to their part of the city. The lazy bastards had refused to contribute in the war stating it wasn't their concern. If they hadn't been so pathetic and useless, maybe Eira wouldn't have been down there the day she died. Maybe she would still be alive.

No, he knew she would be alive if it weren't for the Dunmer.

And here one was in his house of all places. She was running her hand along his face as if she knew him, as if they were more than people who happened to know each other. "Get out."

The bard quietly put her hand in her lap. "I was just about to leave." She stood and turned to leave. "I'll see you later." Of course he would. Every night she would be playing and he would be drinking.

* * *

The next night was exactly as expected. Rolff had woken at sundown and shuffled to the Candlehearth. If he could go someplace else to drink to avoid Luaffyn he would, but the only other inn was the New Gnisis Cornerclub and it was located in the Gray Quarter so the owners and most of the patrons were grayskins.

Luaffyn had played her songs, alternating among her lute, drums, and flute. She didn't even look at Rolff when he ascended the stairs with his mug of ale. Despite the other regulars in the room, it felt like they were the only two people there. Maybe it was because Rolff always sat alone and no one had any interest in talking to him. Maybe it was because Luaffyn's voice always carried over the conversation, filling the room. Regardless, Rolff found his gaze returning to her time and time again.

Last night wasn't the first time she had made sure he had made it home. There had been numerous times Rolff had wandered down to the Gray Quarters and ended up either passing out or getting beaten unconscious after picking a fight with a Dunmer tougher than he thought. He'd wake up with Luaffyn humming over him like last night or with her arm around him as she dragged him home.

It bothered him. Why did she care if he lived or died? He didn't care about her. He hated the grayskins, the worthless leeches. He remembered how Galmar would tell him of the endless requests from them to Jarl Ulfric for more resources while the jarl was busy trying to win a war. How many times had they been forced to refuse the petitions after patiently explaining there was no extra funds for a race who didn't work or contribute to either the city's defenses or the war effort?

Customers came and went. Some stayed for hours drinking and singing with friends, while others came in for a quick bite to eat before going back downstairs to fall asleep in their rented rooms. It was warm, dry, and a pleasant atmosphere from companionship.

So why did Rolff feel so damn alone?

It was almost 2AM when Luaffyn took a break. She came over to his table holding two mugs. "Care to drink with me?" she asked, offering him mead.

"I don't need an elf buying my drinks," Rolff snapped. His head was hurting and he was feeling particularly lonely tonight.

"Then I'll just sit here as I wet my throat," Luaffyn replied. She sat down and sipped her drink. The extra mug was closer to Rolff than she.

Rolff started to tell her to bugger off to another table, but the words just wouldn't come to his lips. "What's the name of the song you were singing?" he asked instead.

"Which one?" Luaffyn smirked. "I sing many songs."

"The one you were singing last night right before I rested my eyes," Rolff clarified. "The one about going high or being real or something." He tried to hum a few notes, but he had no sense of tune.

"Oh, that one," Luaffyn smiled. "It's called 'Caught in the Rain.' I learned it in my travels and always thought it sounded nice. Now that the war is over, I can sing something other than propaganda."

"It hardly rains in Windhelm," Rolff commented, his brow furrowing in thought. "Hardly seems appropriate."

"Oh, you Nords and your literal sensibilities," Luaffyn chuckled. "Songs are rarely so exact in their interpretations."

"Meaning?" Rolff growled. She was talking fancy and it made him uncomfortable.

"Meaning that the rain doesn't have to be a literal rain. Instead it can be a metaphorical rain," Luaffyn answered, gesturing. "It mostly snows here because it's so cold, but when it does rain it means that spring has come. A time for new beginnings and a chance for change. The world has warmed enough that the stagnant ice has melted and the gentle showers can nurture gardens hopefully long enough for something to grow." The Dunmer sighed. "I hope Windhelm gets caught in the rain of the post-civil war and finds change."

"You meant the Stormcloaks," Rolff accused.

"Not just them," Luaffyn shook her head. "I mean all of Windhelm. The Nords, the Imperials, the Altmer, and so forth, but especially the Dunmer."

"Why the Dunmer?" Rolff asked. "They weren't part of the war."

"That's part of the problem," Luaffyn said. "I've known many Dunmer who joined the civil war. Some on both sides, in fact. But almost no Dunmer from Windhelm got involved."

"Why would you support the Stormcloaks?"

"Because we are unwelcome guests who have overextended our stay," the bard explained. "I was one of the original refugees who came here almost two hundred ago when the Red Mountain exploded. I was a young girl, almost a woman, and I watched the smoke pour from the mountain as the boat sailed for two days. It was only the last part of the second day that I couldn't make out the ash in the air anymore.

"Seven generations of men have been born, raised, had their own children, and died in that time, but still my people linger. Time passes different for us so it barely feels as flowed by at all. But here we are living in the Gray Quarter long enough that your people have changed its name to suit us. My people live in houses with holes in the floor, skeevers in the basement, and gnawing in their bellies wondering when the Red Mountain will finally stop spewing its foul ash and they can go home. Our own children have been born and raised here, never knowing Morrowind, but never thinking of their birth land as home either. They are as frozen as the snow on the ground waiting for something that may never happen instead of going forth and finding a life to live instead of simply surviving."

Luaffyn paused to drink and Rolff realized it was by far the longest conversation they had ever had.

"Ulfric Stormcloak inherited our dilemma as much as he inherited the Palace of the Kings," Luaffyn continued. "His father and his father's father and so forth had given us sanctuary. Some view the segregation of the Argonians from the city a horrible racist maneuver, but it was done with some sensitivity actually. The lizardkin and my race have poor history from the slavery of the natives of Black Marsh. It would have added more powder to the already volatile situation.

"People saw his 'Skyrim for the Nord' campaign as problematic since it would cause isolation for Skyrim and the Empire would lose yet another province, a devastating blow after losing Valenwood and Elsywyr," Luaffyn said as she took another sip. "Yet, I had hope for something more. Ulfric's goals also included 'Let the races enjoy their sovereign cultures. If he could stabilize Skyrim and make it a land proud of its heritage, maybe he could finally send aid to Morrowind so those who wanted could finally go home. The Nords were his original goal, but maybe the Dunmer would profit too."

She sighed as she sat her glass down. "Maybe that's why I agreed to come here to sing and spread the word of the war when Viarmo the Bard Headmaster asked me to. We needed someone here to keep the residents informed and Viarmo thought that a Dunmer singing Ulfric's praises would be much more memorable than a Nord. Some said it was more ironic than inspiring. I can't disagree since I've gotten my fair share of hate over the years from Nords and Dunmer alike. Ironic given they always asked, 'How can you sing a song that supports Ulfric Stormcloak?'"

She stood and stretched. "I think I'll go down to the New Gnisis tonight. It's been a while since I've mingled with the Dunmer. You're welcome to the drink if you want it." Without waiting for Rolff's reply, she turned and left.

* * *

The next day when Rolff woke, he went to Hjerim instead of the Candlehearth. The evening sky was full of gray clouds rolling eastward. There was the smell of a storm coming in the air. After he knocked on the door, Rolff had a horrible thought.

What if the cat answered instead of Angrenor?

He debated about whether he should just leave and come back some other time, but thankfully it was a moot point when his friend opened the door.

"Rolff, what are you doing here?" Angrenor asked. This was the first time he had arrived at Hjerim in any resembling a civil manner.

"I need to talk to you," he admitted, shuffling his feet. "May I come in?"

"Sure," Angrenor moved to the side and motioned for Rolff to enter. "Would you like some water or juice to drink? We don't keep liquor in the house."

"No thank you," Rolff muttered as he took in the furnishings. This was the first time he had been in the house.

Angrenor had done well for himself. Rolff had known that the house had used to belong to one of the Shatter-Shield daughters, a wealthy and respected family, but he had never considered how nice of a house it was. Everything in here was new and clean unlike his small one room home.

He glanced at Angrenor and noted the quality of clothes his friend was wearing compared to the rags he used to own when they were nightly drinking buddies. His face didn't have the gaunt look of someone who hadn't had a meal in a few days and the black bags under his eyes were gone.

"What's up?" Angrenor asked as he sat. He placed a bowl of fruit between them. It was a subtle gesture, but it spoke volumes. Fresh fruit in Windhelm at the end of winter was something only the wealthy could afford.

"Why the ca- Meena?" Rolff asked abruptly. He had never been known for his honeyed words. It was better to be blunt and this over with instead of fumbling for the best way to say it. "Why did you marry Meena?"

If his friend was offended or confused by the question, he didn't show it. He simply chuckled at the memory. "It's sort of dumb. I was begging as usual. I had tried convincing one of the guards for coin by telling about how I used to be an adventurer until I took a sword to the chest." Angrenor rubbed his chest where the scar was. "Meena had happened to be passing by when I said it. She stopped and ran back to me. Her eyes were as huge as saucers.

"'Really?' she had squealed. 'Did you really take a sword to the chest?' It was the first time in a long time anyone had looked at me with interest instead of pity or scorn. She gave me a coin and said I had more than earned it with my bravery," Angrenor chuckled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a septim. "I still have it. I never spent it. I think because that was the moment I started to fall in love with her.

"She would see me again, always randomly, and ask more about my time as a soldier. It reminded me of all the heroic deeds I had done, the battles I had fought in, and the lands I had seen. It reminded me that I was someone, that I wasn't just a bum." Angrenor picked up an apple and played with it. "After Windhelm fell to the Imperials and Brunwulf allowed Khajiit properly into the city, I noticed she was wearing an Amulet of Mara. I was surprised she knew the custom, but I wasted no time in letting her know my interest."

"Didn't you ever feel weird that she was a cat…Khajiit?"

"Why should I? Meena didn't mind that I was a Nord. You don't love someone for what they look like," Angrenor said as he pointed to his chest. "You love them because of who they are here."

The windows shuddered as a gust of wind rattled them. Tree branches tapped angrily against the panes.

"I should go," Rolff said, standing. "It's going to storm soon." He looked at Angrenor. "Thank you."

"You're always welcome here, Rolff," Angrenor said gently. "Don't wait so long to visit again."

"I'll think about it," he muttered, honestly not sure if he would or not.

The clouds were darker when he went outside. The wind was almost strong enough to snatch his hat away. Thunder and lightning rumbled across the sky.

When he had woken today, he was humming the song Luaffyn had sung instead of reaching for Eira. It was the first time in years he had woken to something other than looking for his dead wife and it left him feeling uneasy.

Rolff found himself hurrying towards Candlehearth Hall despite his home being closer. He picked up his pace trying to outrace the oncoming storm. Luaffyn would be there performing. Maybe he would make a request for her song tonight.

Big fat raindrops suddenly started falling from the sky, splattering on his shoulders. The sky opened to let the torrent come down. The loud patter of the rain filled his ears. Rolff put on a burst of speed so he was running for Candlehearth Hall.

It looked like despite how much he tried otherwise, he had gotten caught in the rain after all.


	3. Eyes Wide Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my entry for the [](http://gamingloveinterests.deviantart.com/) Secondary Characters Need Love Too contest. I've been slowly building this relationship up and felt it was time to move it forward a bit. This is such an odd pairing, but one I've come to really love. 

Title: Eyes Wide Open  
Pairing: Rolff Stone-Fist x Luaffyn

A/N: This is a sequel to "Eira" and "Caught in the Rain". I highly recommend you read those two one-shots first if you haven't yet.

* * *

"This was a stupid idea," Rolff Stone-Fist muttered as he looked at the simple silver chain necklace.

It looked too delicate in his big, rough hands. Part of him worried that it would snap at any moment because it was too fine for a rough guy like him. The other part of him grumbled it better not since it had set him back a hundred septims.

For whatever reason, he had thought of Luaffyn when he saw it and decided to buy it as a gift for when she got back from her trip to Solitude which should be any day now. The Dark Elf bard had become a friend of sorts for the cantankerous Nord. He was notorious with his hatred and poor treatment of the Dunmer people of Windhelm, but he found most of his nights were spent in her company as she sang for the Candlehearth Hall while he nursed his mugs of mead.

Tonight, he had wandered down to the Gray Quarters to see if Luaffyn had come back to Windhelm and decided to play in the New Gnisis Cornerclub, the tavern in the poorer part of the city. She rarely sang there, but every once in a while she would disappear for a few days and when she returned, that's where she said she had been.

Rolff had lingered outside the dirty looking building before wandering over to the Sadri's Used Goods, the general store for that part of the city. He had not quite been able to convince himself to go into the bar in case other people saw him leave. What if Nords thought he drank with these dirty grayskins?

Sadri had been behind the counter when Rolff came in. His welcome hadn't been quite cold, but it wouldn't have been described as welcoming either. Rolff had spent too many nights in the Gray Quarter, picking fights with lone Dunmer, over the years to be a wanted sight in any Dunmer owned establishment. As the younger brother of Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric Stormcloak's personal housecarl, Rolff was a well-known figure in Windhelm. He was no longer well connected since the Stormcloak Rebellion had failed three years ago, which resulted in both Galmar and Ulfric's deaths, but that had not stopped his personal crusade against the Dunmer refugees who littered the Gray Quarter.

Brunwulf Free-Winter had done his best to clean up the ghetto that the Gray Quarter had become during the last part of the civil war, but he had also diverted his attentions to dragon attacks, reintegrating Argonians and Khajiit into the general populace, and paying restitution to Whiterun for being sacked by the Stormcloaks. Although he spoke well enough about wanting to help all of his people live well and safely, the lives of people who didn't even consider themselves part of Skyrim had time and time again become the bottom of his list of priorities.

Most people were disappointed by Brunwulf's inability to keep his political promises, but Rolff didn't mind one bit if it allowed him to continue to roam the Gray Quarter in the middle of the night when he felt like it. The Dunmer might not have been responsible for his wife's death six years ago like he had thought, but that didn't mean they were not without sin. There were plenty of them who were thieves, thugs, and layabouts just looking for a handout. If they wanted the help of the jarl, they should have joined the Stormcloaks while they had the chance. They could have proven they were just as loyal to their land as the Nords, but they hadn't. Instead, the damn grayskins had just hidden in their homes waiting for the war to be over, and now that it was they cried harder than ever for charity.

After buying the chain, he had quickly left Sadri's Used Wares before the grayskin could tell him to leave. He might have been willing to tolerate the elf's sidelong glares, but he would be damned before he took orders from one. Hovering outside of the Cornerclub, Rolff decided Luaffyn wasn't back yet since he couldn't hear her singing. There had been many nights he had heard the rhythm of her music before entering the Hearth and the only noises coming from the inn was the bustling of preparing the bar for the evening.

There was no point in hanging around any longer. It was getting dark and it was snowing heavily. No one would be outside in the Gray Quarter tonight. He would head back to his usual haunt and drink a bit before heading home instead of trolling for a fight.

The walk back to the Candlehearth was uneventful, but Rolff was suspicious once he entered the Hall. Elda Early-Dawn, the proprietress, was glaring at him as he started for the stairs that would lead to the common area loft.

"What?" he snapped, in no mood for whatever was on the woman's mind.

"I don't want you starting any trouble tonight, Rolff Stone-Fist," she said in her sharp voice. She wiped her counter as she watched him cautiously. "If you get into any fights, then you better make sure they happen outside and not in my inn. I won't have you breaking anything here again." She glanced nervously at the famous candle that decorated the hearth for which Hall was named. Last time Rolff had gotten into a brawl, he had been thrown back against it and almost knocked it over. "I'm not joking with you, Stone-Fist. You get into a fight and I'll ban you for a week."

"Why would I get into a fig-" Rolff started to ask. He abruptly stopped when he heard her voice wafting down the stairs. Luaffyn was back from Solitude!

Rolff bolted towards the loft, ignoring Elda's final, "No fighting!"

The first thing he saw was Luaffyn. She looked oddly pretty as she laughed at something Stenvar the mercenary was saying to her. It was hard to get a good look at her, as the Dunmer was surrounded by men. Adonato Leotelli, a writer who lived in the Hall, was also standing next to her while Aval Atheron, the Dunmer who ran a stall in the open market tugged on her sleeve to get her attention next. Nils, the Candlehearth's cook, was there too. He rarely came upstairs unless he was bringing Luaffyn a bit to eat and Rolff didn't see a platter anywhere. There was something about all of their grins that set the Nord's nerves on edge.

Finally, she saw him past the crowd. "Rolff!" Luaffyn called, her huge grin making his heart beat faster. The men parted to look at him and that was when he saw the Amulet of Mara. Suddenly his chest felt too tight.

By Talos, did she know what it meant? In Skyrim to wear an Amulet of Mara was to indicate interest in marriage. Sometimes foreigners were rudely surprised by flirtatious men and women, but Luaffyn was a bard. She was supposed to know the local culture and she had lived here longer than Rolff had been alive.

"I'm surprised someone like you isn't already taken," Stenvar purred as he leaned close to Luaffyn.

"Oh you," she giggled as she pushed him away. "I have to sing now if I plan on earning my dinner tonight."

"I'd earn your dinner every night if you'd let me," Stenvar promised.

"Thank you, but I'm interested in someone else," Luaffyn demurred.

She definitely knew.

Rolff thought he wouldn't be able to breathe ever again. He couldn't stand to look at Luaffyn and her little group of admirers any more. He jerked his head away as he stumbled back downstairs. Elda looked up when she heard his footsteps. She had known, that nosy bitch. She could have just told him instead of rambling about her stupid Hall and fights.

"Give me your strongest drink," he demanded as he slammed some coins on the counter. As she opened her mouth, he snapped, "No fighting. I heard you the first time, you damn harpy."

Elda sniffed at the insult, but she still swept the coins into her hand before giving him a bottle of Black-Briar mead. Rolff eyed the bottle and decided tonight was a three bottle minimum sort of night. He threw more money at Elda who silently gave him the additional bottles. She had been running this inn for the last twenty years and knew when to argue with a guest and when to let him drink in peace.

Rolff stomped back upstairs and took his normal place by the fireplace. He popped the cap off the bottle and took a long healthy drink straight from the container instead of pouring it first. It felt like liquid fire flooding down his throat and settling pleasantly in his stomach. He hadn't eaten since he had woken up hours ago so within moments he had a thrumming buzz throughout his body.

Normally, Rolff sat so he could watch Luaffyn play, but tonight he was turned so he could watch the flames flickering in the hearth. The heat felt good on his face after being outside and definitely the flush of anger he felt when he thought about the group of men who flocked around Luaffyn every time she stopped to take a break.

The Dunmer never sat with Rolff unless it was late at night and everyone had gone home, but she would frequently sit nearby as she drank tea to sooth her throat or tune her instruments. Not tonight though. Instead she was constantly bombarded with the attention of the rest of the patrons. They were buying her drinks and flattering her shamelessly. It was enough to make Rolff sick.

"Stupid idiots fawning over a dumb grayskin," he grumbled as he downed his second bottle. His right hand reached into his pocket where the necklace was. He traced the thin silver with his thumb. It had definitely been a stupid idea to buy it. First thing tomorrow he would go back and demand a full refund. The elf had clearly overcharged him for a simple piece of jewelry to begin with and Rolff wasn't going to let that stand.

Around midnight Elda came upstairs, a rare occurrence.

"Listen up, the lot of you," she trilled. "The snow is coming down extra hard tonight. It'll probably turn into a blizzard too long. So either pay for a room or head home because I'm not letting any of you freeload tonight."

There was much grumbling from the various patrons and a few even risked sticking their heads outside to confirm Elda's story. Apparently they didn't like what they saw because soon after most of the customers had either fled for home or gone to rent rooms.

"Rolff, it's late and the snows are falling," Luaffyn said. "You should probably head home now."

The Nord looked up and saw they were the last people in the common area. "So?" he slurred. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, sounding hurt. Good, let her. She deserved it.

"Why would I be mad at you?" Rolff countered. "It was nice and peaceful with you gone to your little bard's gathering. I was hoping you'd stay in Solitude."

"You don't mean that," she said gently. She touched his shoulder. "I missed you."

It hadn't looked that way to him. He jerked away from her as he stood unsteadily. "I'm getting more drink."

"I'm not sure Elda is serving any more alcohol tonight," Luaffyn told him.

"She'll take my coin," Rolff sneered. "She always does." He reeled for a moment before falling down. The room spun unpleasantly.

"Elda!" Luaffyn called downstairs. "I need some help up here."

Rolff could hear the patter of Elda's footsteps and her frustrated huff. "Damn fool drank himself stupid again, didn't he?" A pause as Luaffyn must have nodded. "Well, he's out of luck. I'm out of rooms for the night."

"The storm is too strong to help him home," Luaffyn commented thoughtfully.

"I don't know why you bother," Elda sniffed. "He's nothing but a worthless drunk." If Rolff could have opened his eyes, he would have told that Hagraven where she could stick her empty bottles of mead.

"Just help me get him downstairs," Luaffyn replied, ignoring Elda's jab. "I can handle him from there."

The two women picked Rolff up and dragged him to the ground floor. From there Luaffyn looped his arm around her shoulders as she pulled him to a side room. She placed him half on the bed before lighting a single candle.

Rolff lazily watched the shadows dance along the wall as Luaffyn knelt to take his boots off. His gaze ran over the shelves and he noticed this room was a long term residence rental instead of the normal one-nighters. "Where?"

"My room," Luaffyn said simply as she plucked his hat off his head before she sat on the edge of the bed to pull his shirt off.

"What're you doin'?" he mumbled. His top fell to the ground as Luaffyn started to untie his pants. Her hands felt unnaturally hot against his skin. She had helped him stumble home many a time over the years, but this was the first time he could think of that they had touched flesh to flesh. The heat coiled down his waist and settled uncomfortably in his loins.

"You can't sleep in your clothes, Rolff," Luaffyn said matter of factly. She nudged her hand against his hip which he automatically responded to by lifting so she could pull his pants off. She then gathered the discarded clothing and folded them neatly before placing them on her dresser.

Rolff scooted under the furs while her back was turned. Not so much because he was cold, but because of how strained his smalls were. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him and almost longer since he was in someone's bed. Not that anything was going to happen. Luaffyn would probably make a cot on the floor to sleep on and he would have to argue with her on letting him sleep there instead of her since she was a woman and all.

"Hm, what's this?" Luaffyn paused and picked up something from the floor. It was the silver necklace Rolff had bought. It must have fallen out of his pants when she was folding them. The metal glimmered like moonlight in the dim room.

"That's mine," Rolff protested, stammering. He tried to reach for the offending piece of jewelry, but Luaffyn was slightly out of arm's reach. He blushed, looking away in frustration. "I mean, I bought it for you, but you already have a necklace."

"It's lovely," Luaffyn said quietly. "I love it." She glanced at Rolff. "I assume you're still giving it to me?"

"I don't need any damn necklace," he grumbled, watching his hands intently.

The bard took off the Amulet of Mara and placed it on her night stand before putting on the chain. Although it was a much more simple design, the silver necklace was a white contrast against her dark skin that complimented her much more than the golden amulet.

"Thank you, Rolff," she said lowly. Her long, delicate fingers briefly touched his face, making him look up at her. "Let's go to bed now."

The single candle didn't provide much light, but he could still see her silhouette clearly. Shadows were splayed across Luaffyn's face as she reached up and untied the back of her dress. The cloth fell to the ground with barely a whisper. Rolff stared at her body, mesmerized by the white cloth of her smalls against the dark coloring of her skin.

"I can't sleep in my clothes either," she chuckled to his unspoken question. When she reached behind her back and untied her breast band, Rolff quickly looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the scrap of cloth flutter to the ground as the bard climbed into the bed with him.

Her hands settled on his chest, playing with his body hair. "Rolff," she whispered gently as she touched his chin, making him look back at her. Her eyes glittered like garnets in the candlelight. Her lips, a slightly darker red, were full and pouty. "If you want me to stop, just say the word and I will."

The Dunmer leaned forward and kissed him tentatively. When he didn't push her away, her tongue darted past his lips. Her warm moisture felt good in his dry mouth. Rolff half whimpered and half moaned as her fingers entangled in his.

If he closed his eyes, he wouldn't see her unnatural red eyes or her blue-black skin. If he closed his eyes, Luaffyn would feel like any other woman. She would be soft and warm in all the right places. The touch of her hands and the taste of her lips were no different than a Nord woman's.

The heat of her body was much higher and there was a slight musky smell about that that wasn't disagreeable, but not Nord. All he had to do was close his eyes and pretend.

But he didn't.

And he didn’t say ‘stop’ either.


End file.
